I See Fairy Tales
by cosmo17
Summary: England has been labeled insane and locked away. He sees things, hears things, and has terrible nightmares. But that doesn't matter. What happens in his prison is much, much worse. COMPLETE.
1. Locked Away

**Chapter 1: Locked Away  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. If I did, my life would be complete :D**

A group of young men and women walked down a dark, stone corridor, Bars and thick metal doors surrounding them on either side. They were led by a man in a long gray coat, who spoke softly while pointing into different rooms.

"-some of the worst cases of mental deterioration in the world reside here. This ward is home to some of the most extreme cases of schizophrenia, and-"

The group stopped in front of Cell 145.

"This is a special case that popped up a few months ago. This man has a dangerous case of schizophrenia, to the point of violent outbursts at the mention of it. Take a look students," the grey coated man said, motioning to the bars.

Inside was a bleak room with worn, tattered padding on the walls. A single cot sat in the corner, a toilet in the other. A rusty sink stood next to it, dripping water slowly. A man lay back on the cot, staring blankly at the ceiling. His blonde hair was messy and standing on all ends. His face was young and sported large, thick eyebrows. Beneath them, bright green eyes were shining brightly, sparkling from the tiny lightbulb fixed in the wall. His body was slender and he appeared malnourished, and he wore thin sweatpants. He did not wear a shirt.

"His name is Arthur Kirkland, a former member of some top secret government agency. He was 'discontinued' by his fellow agents."

The students scribbled on their notepads, before the man in the coat continued down the hall. One of the students stayed back and peered into the room at the mysterious Arthur Kirkland. The skinny man seemed to notice, and raised his head with a curious look. Then, a dark look crossed his face, and he sent a rude hand gesture at the young student. The kid laughed and returned the gesture before leaving the man alone.

Arthur sighed. None of those kids knew about him. He was a respected country, England. He was there bloody country, after all. So, here lay England, at the lowest moment of his life. Thrown aside and forgotten in a dirty asylum, miserable and mistreated. Of course, who would believe him if he said they didn't treat him right? Nobody, not any of the few visitors he still got. Really, the only ones who came to see him were Germany, America, and France. Everyone else had given up on him. It wasn't his fault they couldn't see his magical friends! They were as real as America's bloody alien, dammit! England shot up and began to shout and curse obscenities at his captors, slamming his thin, bony hands against the padded door. Rage filled his heart, it clouded his senses. It didn't take more than a minute for several uniformed guards to burst in and slam him to the floor. They wielded short, thick clubs, ready to beat him into place if necessary. He struggled uselessly against them, and they forced him to the bed. They locked leather straps into place over his wrists and ankles. He tried desperately to fight against the bonds. One of the guards towered over him.

"Goodnight Mr. Kirkland," he growled, before slamming a short club into the nation's stomach. His breath hitched as pain spread through him, before he felt a sting in his arm. A haze clouded over his eyes, powerful sedation coursing through his blood. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell asleep.

XxXxXxXxXx

New York City always seemed the same to France. It was so busy, obnoxious, and loud. A stream of nearly unmoving cars clogged the streets in thick, bulky groups. Most of them were ugly yellow taxis. Men and women walked in a rush this way and that, somehow organized. The street smelled of salty French Fries and cheap gasoline. It was too much to bear. France quickly made his way into the grand, luxurious hotel along a busy street. Sure, it was nice, but it was classic American. He made his way towards the elevator, when his cell phone vibrated annoyingly in his pocket. He answered irritadedly.

"Bonjour, Francis speaking."

"French dude, you're late, and Germany told me to call you!"

Alfred's loud voice screeched through the phone so loudly that France drew the phone from his ear and cursed under his breath.

"I'm in the elevator now, tell Germany to calm himself," he said, and slapped his phone shut.

He pressed the button to the top floor, and leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes and breathing heavily. Under his arm he carried two folders, one for his notes and one for Arthurs. Ever since he had been taken, Francis had diligently copied all of England's notes. He made the time, and he truly felt horrible over the whole mess. He delivered the notes personally every week to Arthur. His former rival was a mere shell of what he used to be. His face was shallow and he looked very tired. He didn't insult France anymore, only thanking him and forcing a small smile when he sent his regards to the others. It made France want to cry for him, or at least hug him, though the guards wouldn't even allow that. They claimed that Arthur was 'dangerous.' Bullshit in France's opinion, but there was nothing he could do. All the tests had proven that England really was schizophrenic. It was a sad thing.

The elevator stopped at the top floor with an elegant ding, and France stepped out into the brightly lit hall. He entered the conference room and was greeted with silent eyes. Normally, things were chaotic, and loud. However, the other nations were completely quiet as France entered. He was aware of the stares he was receiving, though he did not really care. Everyone felt as if they were treading on thin ice around him, especially careful not to mention England around him. It was quite a sore subject.

"Let's get on with the meeting then," Germany said sternly, and France sat at his spot near Italy.

He glanced over at the young, carefree nation, and Italy cracked a small smile and patted his hand. France wanted to smile, but he just couldn't. He touched Italy's hand gently as a sign of thanks, then turned his attention to Germany. He had begun his usual speech on world trade. France listened more intently than usual, scribbling notes down onto official documents. After each set of notes, he flipped to England's folder, copying the notes again in a fluent cursive. When the meeting was over and everyone had filed out, France stayed behind and copied the notes into England's folder. As he finished, he felt a hand on his shoulder. America.

"Amerique, have you been waiting for me?" France asked, not that surprised.

"Yeah bro. I just wanted you to make sure you give this to Iggy, alright?" America said optimistically, handing France a small box of England's favorite Earl Grey Tea.

It was a very kind, yet very depressing gesture. France knew exactly what happened to this items for the patients in London. They were labeled as 'contraband,' taken to a furnace room, and burned. France had seen it before, in times of war. He had visited these places to question prisoners and insane soldiers, and knew the procedure. England would never see the gift from America, and the young American was oblivious. France smiled softly.

"I'll get it to him, don't worry. He'll be very grateful mon ami."

America smiled happily.

"Thanks France! Tell him I'll come around next week!"

"Sure. I'll let him know."

France shuffled his and England's notes neatly into their respective folders. He sighed and stood, heading for the door. His plane would take off in an hour, and he would be visiting Arthur when he arrived in London. He always grew depressed before his visits. Last time, Arthur had had his wrists bound. France had complained to the doctors, but they had roughly reassured him that Arthur was prone to violent episodes, and that it was law he be restrained.

"Don't worry about it France, the restraints don't hurt. It's just a precaution," Arthur had said, smiling weakly.

France had grown to hate the visits, absolutely despise them. He wanted to see England, to give Alfred some kind of comfort in that... place. But it was becoming so painful to watch England wither away, his mind deteriorating, as he saw things. When they were young, he knew that the small, foul tempered nation had talked to his imaginary friends, but what kid didn't? Then, he still was occasionally caught talking to them, all the way up until present day. Throughout history, Arthur had seen things others hadn't, and it wasn't until a year ago that his own parlaiment had labeled him as a schizophrenic and locked him away in an insane asylum. It made Francis sick inside, and everyone knew it. Who knew that the absence of the Brit would be so devestating on them all? Now, even Germany missed the constant bickering and fighting. They all did.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

England slept very fitfully. He had the same dream, again and again. He was riding a dragon, Captain Hook at his side, and below, burning houses and screams echoed through the night. People were running from there homes, their bodies caught in the blaze, smouldering and crumbling into ash as the dragon spat fire down on them. England could do nothing but watch. On the horizon, the flag of each country stood tall, casting shadows upon the blazing scenery. One by one, each flag burst into flames, his last. Voices filled his head, though he couldn't understand them. They were only whispers after all.

England's eyes shot open and he thrashed wildly at the hands attacking him. His chin was caught and he stared up in fear into cold, grey eyes. His doctor's eyes.

"Settle down, Mr. Kirkland, settle down," the doctor said in a stern, powerful voice.

Everything about the doctor was grey. His eyes, his hair, his coat. Even his skin seemed to have a greyish tint to it, though it may have just been the many grey bricks surrounding them.

"Another nightmare? We'll have to up your dosage again," the doctor said, his voice laced with humor.

"No! I don't need that stuff in my blood. God knows what you're really pumping into me," England said dangerously, drawing his hand to his chest and nursing his wrist, which had been rubbed raw by the straps.

"Everyone takes the medication Mr. Kirkland, you are no different. Schizophrenia is a powerful disease, it should be treated with the utmost precaution-"

"I'm not bloody insane! Half the people in this place are perfectly healthy, and you know it!" England yelled.

"Perhaps it was a mistake to unbind you today Mr. Kirkland. A Mr. Bonnefoy is here to see you, but it appears his journey was in vain..." the doctor trailed off, his voice a boring drawl.

England's eyes widened.

"Francis? Take me to him!"

The doctor chuckled.

"There's our chipper Arthur. Come now, let's get you to the visiting room."

The visiting room was completely white, with a chair in the center, and a bland, uncomfortable couch against the wall. England waited in the hard, metal chair, which was screwed into the floor. Soon, the door opened with a clang, and Francis, flamboyant and half-smiling, hovered into the room and swept England into a hug. They stayed there for a full minute or two, and England didn't mind at all. Normally, if France were to even suggest touching him, he would begin screaming and cursing the man, then a fist fight would ensue. Not anymore. England was just happy to have some form of contact with anyone, and France was very inviting. Any physical contact that England was used to were the cold, intruding hands of his doctor, or the violent hands of guards wielding there vile clubs. This was a rare occasion, and England accepted the warm hug fully. Francis drew back and smiled.

"Oh Angleterre, it's been so long. Are they treating you alright in here? What's that?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at fresh wraps on Arthur's wrists.

"Oh, nothing. I've been having nightmares, and it is absolutely necessary," he tried to wave it off.

France looked appalled.

"They have been tying you down? Animals!" He said, glaring at the door.

"Really France, I'm fine. They make me comfortable here, it's alright. I'll be out soon."

Every last bit of this sentance was a lie. Of course he was not fine. He was not comfortable. The doctors injected him with sedatives if he even displayed emotion, and the guards would hit him if he acted up. Also, he had been saying he would be out soon for just over a year, and the doctor had specifically told him personally that with his condition, five years in this place would be a blessing. The only hope England had left was in these visits.

"As long as you are comfortable mon ami. I brought the notes from the conference. Amerique says he'll be in next week, and everyone misses you. Germany thinks you should eat more, and Italy says he thinks about you everyday. Even Russia says he misses your adorable face, though I was a bit unsure on that last one. I was to busy eyeing the pipe strapped to his leg," France said, chuckling softly.

England smiled a bit at this, but it didn't last long. He would never tell France, but the doctor always took the notes. He had them sent to England's Prime Minister, who filled them out and sent them back here. England never even got to lay eyes on the notes that France worked so hard on every week, making it perfect for Arthur. The thought made England want to sob, but he didn't.

"The front desk should have the notes from last week, I've filled them out accordingly. It's... It's good to see you Francis," England said, his lip trembling slightly.

He bit it before France noticed.

"Mon petite lapin, it is wonderful to see you as well. I know these times are tough, but you'll get through it, okay?"

"Yeah. It will be okay."

England hated to lie.

**A/n: This is my first real attempt at a dark fic! It will be multi-chaptered, so, R&R! :D**


	2. In A Dark Place

**Chapter 2: In a Dark Place**

It was crowded in the Socialization Section. England could not find a place to sit, so he simply leaned against the cold wall. Hundreds of other prisoners surrounded him, doing various activities. Some chatted with each other, some played games with chalk on the floor. A game of leap frog was taking place in the center. Others traded contraband, and some picked fights. It was actually slightly amusing to England, watching as these humans interacted. They seemed relatively normal, but England held his breath on that statement. You never knew who might actually be insane. For example, the man who was now sliding on his stomach across the floor at England's feet. The man stared up at him and licked his dry lips.

"Got any cigarettes brother?" The man seemed desperate, and he was shaking, constantly licking his lips.

"Sorry, ask someone else," England said quickly, wanting to avoid the man.

"I've killed people for that stuff. I swear I'll do it again," the man said, staring hard into England's eyes.

England turned his head away, mumbling the same thing again. But the man was persistent, and stood, grasping the sleeve of England's shirt and bringing their faces close.

"I've killed men with my bare hands for a light," he said threateningly, barring his teeth.

His breath reeked, and his teeth were a ghastly sight. Just as the man had begun to make strange, violent noises, another man came up to the two. Without a second thought, he punched the man hard in the face. He literally hissed, then slunk away. England took a good look at his savior. He had light brown, shoulder length hair, and several scars on his face. A tattoo curled around his neck and ran under his shirt, and England could see tattooed flames running from his sleeves to the tops of his hands. He grinned at England.

"Gotta' watch those addict types. They can be dangerous, my friend."

His voice was a low rumble, and his accent was laced thickly with Russian. England wondered just what a Russian man was doing here.

"Thank you, I'll watch myself from now on," England said, nodding.

"Name's Zakhar Cherstvennikov." The Russian held out a scarred, rough hand.

"Good to meet you Mr... eh..." England's face flushed as he struggled with the pronunciation of the complicated name, and Zakhar laughed powerfully.

"Just call me Zak, my friend."

England chuckled slightly.

"It's nice to meet you Zak. My name is Arthur Kirkland," England said, shaking Zak's hand.

"Well then my friend, tell me about yourself. How you landed yourself in this hellhole?"

The two of them talked for quite awhile. For the first time in a year, England was actually enjoying having a conversation with someone. In Socialization, he never talked to anyone, usually just finding some place to stand or sit, avoiding everyone. England thought he may have found someone who was sane, until Zak told him how he got in this place.

"I tell you my friend, were all sane here. I know I am. You want to know how I got in this place?"

"Oh, yes please."

"My wife and I were on holiday in London. I told her not to speak to anyone, that I would speak for her. Some proper gentleman held open a door for her, and she defied my orders. She actually thanked him! So, I stabbed her twenty seven times exactly, and played the 'mental condition' card in court. I thought it would be better than having myself landed in some rotten Gulag, but I was wrong. This place is madness."

England paled and swallowed hard. Zak had really killed his wife over a simple formality? Zak must have seen the look in his eyes, because he laughed loudly again.

"Don't worry, I don't have problem with you, my friend. Maybe eh, get drunk and fight men, but stay calm and kill woman... Just be thankful you are not woman."

England nodded, completely horrified. He cursed himself again and again for befriending a cold blooded killer, wishing it had never happened. Zak placed a hand on his shoulder and looked to the rest of the room.

"You see this place? I would kill every last svoloch here to gain my freedom. I want you to help me, my troubled friend."

England gasped, his eyes widening.

"W-what? Me? I'm no killer, sorry Zak."

"HAHAHA! No killer, indeed, but you are small. You may fit through vent even. We can get out of this dump, no? Together, and I make sure you are safe. We can get out there and drink ourselves silly! Yes, the good life, my friend."

"I don't know... They'll just look for us. Please, I don't want to be caught," England said, trying to back out of the idea.

"Don't worry about it Arthur. If I can get out, I have many connections. I can get you out completely legally, as far as they can tell. If you can help me find a way out, that is. Help me?"

England bit his lip. Everything about it went against his morals, and Zak seemed dangerous.

"I'll think about it," he said, delaying the idea.

Zak just grinned widely.

"I understand, these things take time. I will find you again, my friend. I hope your answer is yes, though one can only hope," Zak said, clasping a hand on England's shoulder.

"Yeah," England said nervously, "one can only hope."

XxXxXxXxXx

America paced around his room, bored out of his mind. Nothing helped to edge away the boredom anymore, not video games, movies, or even McDonalds. He sighed and flopped down on the couch, taking out his phone to text. Life without Iggy was so boring! He wanted to see his former brother, but the hospital only provided one visit per week, and he couldn't make the last one. After a few minutes without texts, he sighed and got up, heading out. He got in his car and drove off, hoping he could find something to do. There was never anything anymore.

After an hour of driving and wasting gas, America found nothing to do. He groaned angrily and punched the steering wheel of his car. He just wanted Iggy back. He fought back tears. Heroes didn't cry. He slammed the door of his car and headed inside. He walked along his manor until he found the storage room. Inside was dusty and dark. He dug around until he found what he was looking for.

"I'm gonna get you out Iggy. Don't worry," he said softly as he clung to a hand painted toy soldier.

Tears finally managed to escape.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Plotting an escape Mr. Kirkland?" England's doctor held him by the arm, dragging him forcefully down the dingy hall.

"How did you even hear us?"

"You didn't think we had microphones in every corner? Your own bloody clothes have them you ungrateful fool," the doctor growled angrily, stopping outside a door marked S-23.

"That's not fair, we should be able to speak freely!" England protested.

"This isn't America, Mr. Kirkland. You of all people should know that! A week in solitary ought to straighten out your warped mind," the doctor hissed, opening the door.

Inside was a small, blank room. The walls were thickly padded, and the door had no window. There were no lights in there. England began to breath heavily.

"You can't put me in there, you have no bloody right!"

"Oh yes I do. This will teach you a thing or two about obedience!" the doctor shouted, and threw England into the cell.

The door slammed behind him, and darkness filled the room. There was no light source at all. England screamed and pounded against the walls, shouting and sobbing. He dug at the padding with his finger nails, and kicked at the door. He rocked himself and cried, then returned to punching and kicking. Eventually, he was worn out. He collapsed and breathed heavily. He couldn't help but fear for Zak. Even though the man was terrifying and cruel, he was England's only friend in this hospital.

Except for the others.

"Flying Mint Bunny?"

"Oh Britain, they are so cruel to you," the high pitched voice said, and a bright light formed at England's shoulder.

The green, winged rabbit sat on England's shoulder, nuzzling against his face.

"I'm not supposed to see you," England stammered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"But I'm your friend Britain. You love me. You love all of us," the bunny said, cooing softly.

"You're the only ones who understand. You're real," England said, relaxing.

"Of course were real. We always have been."

The once dark room was bright and alive with creatures and friends. Uni curled up in front of England, and Captain Hook sat beside him, smiling and softly humming a pirates tune. Tinker Bell fluttered above his head, playing gently with the curls in his hair. England smiled and curled up with his friends.

That night, he had a dream. He was with France, as a child, holding his hand. They were walking through the brightly lit woods, France spinning him around and laughing. When England woke up, his friends were still there, asleep. He smiled and fell back into his dream. There was nothing better to do anyways.

XxXxXxXxXx

France walked up the gravel path to Germany's house. It was enormous, and elegant. He knocked on the huge front door, which was opened shortly after. Italy stood in the doorway, yawning as if he had just woken up. France just had to smile at Italy's tired face. The young Italian rubbed his eyes, and then grinned at France. Then he looked down, noticing his pink footie pajamas. He let out a small cry of embarrassment, and France chuckled a bit.

"It is alright mon ami, I have a pair as well. Can I come in?"

Italy smiled brightly at the news.

"Ve, come in big brother France! Germany is making breakfast!"

France walked in, admiring the paintings on the wall. Suddenly, the smells of a delicious breakfast filled his nose. Italy skipped along, singing out loud. France walked briskly to keep up. They entered the kitchen and Italy announced their arrival.

"Germany, look who came to see you, ve!" He sang.

Germany stood over the stove in his pajamas. His hair was loose and flat, and what he wore made France laugh openly, for the first time in months. He wore footy pajamas as well, except his had a tail. They had stripes like a tiger, and a they had a picture of Italy's face on the chest. Germany yelled loudly in horrifying embarrassment, his face resembling a tomato.

"Italy you dumkopf! You let him in while I was wearing this!" He screamed, then bolted from the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Germany walked out fully clothed, still bright red and avoiding France's gaze.

"I came to bring you Angleterre's notes. And I wanted to ask you something important as well," France said, still grinning.

Italy was laughing, and Germany was still horrified.

"Well, thanks for that. Just, don't tell anyone about this France, or I will make you suffer. Want some breakfast? Were having wurst omelets and a cheese platter."

"Oh no, I don't mean to intrude," France said kindly.

"I insist, you've already done enough damage. Can't make it any worse by eating with us, right?"

"Well, alright, it does smell heavenly," France said, sitting at Germany's table.

They ate with a bright conversation, though most of the talking came from Italy. Germany reminded him several times not to chew with his mouth full, and France ate politely, though Germany insisted he have more. After his third wurst omelet, France told him he was so full he might explode. Then, they sent Italy off to the store, so they could talk about more important matters.

"What was it you wanted to ask me France?"

"Well, I think we should bring everyone together. America is sure to say yes, China is on board, and Russia says he will make everyone anyways. I think we should band together and confront Britain's parliament. We should ask for his release."

Germany considered the thought.

"But what if he is really schizophrenic? Wont it interfere with world business?"

"It never did before! Think about the impact its had on us all, emotionally and economically. Angleterre's bosses make terrible decisions, we all know that! Please Germany, you have to say yes," France begged, pleading with his eyes as well.

Germany sighed.

"Very well. It is true, the loss has been great. We should do this, but we must take precautions! You understand the nature of his... condition."

"I know, but what he really needs is his friends. We will get him through this."

"Yeah. We will. Let's get the others on board."

**A/n: Updated rather quickly, huh? Was this good? I tried to throw in a bit of humor towards the end, just as a bit of relief from the darkness. But the first part was pretty dark, right? R&R :)**


	3. Hallucinations

**Chapter 3: Hallucinations**

It was dark when England awoke. The first thing he noticed was the lack of his friends, with no trace that they had ever been there with him. Perhaps they hadn't. Perhaps it was just his crazy mind. These thoughts ran through England's mind, and deeply saddened him. He could feel a few stray tears fall from his eyes, and he let them. He had no idea how long he had been in here, or where he even was in the small room. He was sure he was in the back, right corner, but there really was no telling. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, feeling like he may fall asleep again, until he slowly became aware of a smell. It was thick and sickening, sweet and sour at the same time. It filled his nostrils and clouded his senses, and he wanted to throw up. He choked out, shoved his nose into the sleeve of his shirt, but nothing could mask the horrible stench. The stench of blood.

England was positive he was about to pass out, when a miracle happened. A small slider in the door flew open with a bang, allowing fresh air into the awful smelling room. Or maybe it wasn't such a miracle. What he saw was ghastly, and his stomach rose to his throat. Zak the Russian was with him. The terrible thing was, he was nailed to the wall. England screamed and didn't stop, taking in the sight as the ray of light from the door fell upon the slaughtered body of Zak, who's eyes were missing completely. His mouth was stitched vertically, so the corners hung open, and his arms had bloody gashes running up them. England scrambled back against the opposite wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, incoherent mumbles and bible verses streaming from his lips.

A hearty laugh floated into the room, and the door clanged. It opened all the way, and a uniformed guard stood there. He was tall and bald, and his uniform was stark white, and freshly pressed. A small silver emblem was pinned to his chest, an emblem of two weeping angels wrapped in thorny vines. The guard held a small covered tray, and he was smiling wickedly.

"Hallucinations again Kirkland? My my, you are quite insane, aren't you?" the guard said, walking in without a second glance at the horrible sight on the wall.

England opened his eyes, and the smell of blood was gone. The body was gone as well, and the room was bare once again. He recognized the bald guard. The same guard that constantly harassed and tormented him, seemingly for fun.

"Get the bloody hell out of here Munsun."

Munsun was huge and ugly, and seemed to have taken a liking for bothering England. The man laughed again and set the tray on the floor. England was still shaky, and covered with sweat. Munsun lifted the cover off the tray, revealing a single, crusty sandwich and a bottle of water. England snatched them both without thanks and twisted the cap off the bottle, bringing the water to his dry, cracked lips, sighing in relief as the luke-warm liquid hit his parched throat.

Munsun smiled stupidly and began to talk.

"You know, your Russian friend, Zakhar? We threw him over in Section Four. He should be fairly comfortable over there, he fits right in."

England gasped. Section Four was the worst section in the entire hospital. It was mysterious and always dark. Cold seemed to seep out from under the single security door that led to it, and shrieks of pain or laughter could always be heard escaping it. The worst cases resided there, but there was a thing in there that was only known to some patients in the hospital. Not even the Parliament knew about it. All of the insane patients in there were aloud to wander the section freely. Those who were placed in Section Four must fight for there lives. There was no doubt now that Zak was dead.

"That's right, Section Four! I saw him in there while I was in The Tower, taking pot-shots at those lunies with the tranque-gun. He was still kicking though, too bad," Munsun laughed hard, clutching his sides.

"You bastards had better take him out of there, or I swear-"

"You swear what? We could put you in there if you weren't so valuable. Her Royalty has actually requested that no harm come to you in here, can you believe that? Special treatment from the Queen, eh? Lucky break," Munsun snorted.

"You talk way to much you dumb git," England huffed, taking a bite of sandwich.

Munsun was silent for a moment before he sprang at England, drawing out his club. He battered England in the ribs, and he gasped out. Munsun was enormous, his sheer size crushing the smaller man. He tried to cry out, but it only escaped as a small squeak. Munsun punched him hard in the chest and England's breath shot out of his chest, and he rolled over, trying with all his might to regain his breath as Munsun stood up, laughing and taking the tray.

"Have a fun week in there Kirkland, and don't ever think you have a right to insult me," he grunted, slamming the door shut and barring it violently.

England had no response, other than to curl up on his side. A bit of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he tried to suck in air. It was fairly painful to do so, so he closed his eyes and tried to focus on other things. He thought about the outside world, the world meetings, and his friends. He was faintly aware of a soft glow over him, and a small figure resting its head against his cheek.

"Thank's Tinkerbell... I'm just glad someone is here with me."

XxXxXxXxXx

The Parliament building in Westminster, London was enormous. A large group of men stood staring at it with a feeling of uncertainty. America, France, China, Russia, Japan, Germany, Italy, and Canada began to walk towards it, each silent and wondering what had happened. It was a relief to France that everyone had been able to make it to London. With so many representatives present, France hoped they would be able to convince the Prime Minister and the Queen that England should be released from his current situation. Japan was very hesitant at first, having had personal experience with England's 'condition', though he eventually decided to join the others.

"This should be a snap, leave it up to the hero guys!" America said loudly, leading at the front of the group.

"You watch yourself in there America. If you say the wrong thing, they might kick us out," Germany said, trying to maintain his position as the most sensible of the group.

America just bit his lip, refraining from saying anything else. In truth, he was not as confident as he made himself out to be. He had always been good at containing his nervousness, always putting on an optimistic facade. Lately though, it had been difficult to do even that.

Canada trailed at the back of the group, silently agreeing with Germany. He had come to support France, and he knew deep down that his Papa truly cared for England, even if they fought quite a bit. Italy was nervous as he gazed at the big parliament building, hoping that they could release England and make everything normal again. They stopped at the gate, two guards holding up their hands.

"What business do you have with the Parliament?" One asked in a scripted, monotone voice.

America stepped forward to speak, but France stopped him quickly, stepping up to answer himself.

"We have a ten A.M appointment with the Prime Minister, the Queen should be present as well. Here you go," he said, handing a slip of paper to the guard.

The man read it over, and nodded them in. France thanked him kindly, though he could hear him say something about 'frog bastards' under his breath. He sighed, and the nations continued down the hall and knocked on the large door to the meeting room.

"Enter," a voice said, and they all stepped in solemnly.

An elegantly dressed woman sat in a large chair on a raised platform at the head of the large, circular room. A somber looking, middle aged man stood next to her, dressed in a grey suit. Another man stood alongside him, smiling brightly and folding his arms. He wore a gray overcoat, and his hair was thinning and grey as well. France widened his eyes in surprise.

"Hey, that's Angleterre's doctor!" he whispered to the others, getting raised eyebrows in response.

"Ah, our guests have arrived," the man in the suit said, stepping forward.

France noticed he had bags under his eyes. The weathered man was easily recognized as the Prime Minister, whom most of the countries had met.

"Yes, Sir. It has been some time since we have spoken. I've come on behalf of-"

"We know why you are here," the Queen said in a proper voice, holding her nose up a bit.

"Then you have already formed an opinion?"

At this, the doctor cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him.

"It is clear why Mr. Kirkland has been hospitalized. The answer is no, Mr. Bonnefoy."

France began to speak, but the Queen raised her hand to silence him. The doctor continued in a soothing voice.

"I am sorry, but this is simply a waste of time and effort. I truly wish I could be of help to you all, but Mr. Kirkland has a dangerous mental condition. Why, just the other night he was pacing around solitary confinement, speaking to an imaginary rabbit!" The doctor let out an emotionless chuckle that outraged France.

"Arthur is perfectly healthy! He has always managed to complete his work, and he is needed at these meetings, they are of the utmost importance to world affairs!" France said, raising his voice in anger.

"Let's be honest Francis, what do you all even accomplish at those meetings? They appear to be a waste of time..." the Prime Minister said, and Germany flushed at this.

"Look everyone, I've kept my mouth shut long enough! Artie is one of the best countries on the planet, and he's my brother. Everyone has imaginary friends, even I did as a kid. Why can't an adult talk to something he finds comforting to relieve stress? He's not crazy!" America shouted, and the Prime Minister winced.

The Queen remained emotionless, and the doctor smiled heartlessly.

"Mr. Kirkland has a severe mental illness, Mr. Jones. I know that may be hard to grasp for some people, but many times, one does not recover from these circumstances. He can be aided yes, and perhaps in several years he will have progressed. In the meantime, he is being contained in one of the safest, highly rated hospitals in the United Kingdom. Try to understand-"

"Safest?" France shrieked, "he has horrible marks on his wrists and ankles from being bound! Clearly, he is not safe in there."

"Would you rather he maim himself in his sleep? He has terrible nightmares, Mr. Bonnefoy. I have seen it with my own eyes, and I shall tell you only once. Mr. Kirkland is a danger to himself, as well as others. If he sees things, then who is to say he wouldn't think twice about harming someone, under the assumption that it is yet another hallucination? What then, Mr. Bonnefoy?"

France glared daggers at the grey man, but fell silent, unsure of what to say. Then, Russia stepped forward. The Queen shifted uncomfortably, and the rest of the nations looked surprised. The doctor remained unfazed.

"Da, but I am dangerous as well, but I reside in no hospital. Hehe, not even a gulag. No, I am just as insane as Britain, but I am free to wander this Earth. Who says I would not kill?" Russia said, smiling gleefully.

"Why isn't this one locked up yet?" the Prime Minister muttered to the Queen, who was trembling.

"I believe you are threatening me, Mr. Braginski. Do not allow it to happen in my homeland again, or you will be looking at imprisonment. The rest of you are dismissed," the doctor sneered.

"I believe that I have the right to allow them here, doctor. I have not had my say," the Queen said sharply, and the doctor looked surprised.

"Yes, Ms. Elizabeth. Continue," the doctor said, retreating.

The Queen cleared her throat, and sat up straight.

"I have known Arthur Kirkland my entire life, and I daresay, I never imagined him to be insane. He is eccentric, yes, but I have never had any reason to believe he was dangerous," the Queen spoke carefully, choosing just the right words.

The countries brightened at the reasonable words.

"However..."

Their expressions were put out like a candle flame swallowed up in an ocean.

"Recently, Arthur has shown signs of severe distress. He often talks to himself, or to others. He claims things are there, when no others can see them. He has lashed out at others who do not believe him. Mr. Honda, I believe you have experienced this first hand."

Japan grew nervous at the mention of his name. He cleared his throat and shuffled in his spot.

"No, I-"

The countries looked defeated as Japan struggled for the right thing to say. The doctor coughed a bit, and made himself heard.

"Mr. Kirkland will continue to reside in our hospital, and you will leave London immediately, before we are forced to have you removed from the premises. I am sorry I could not have been of further assistance."

"But that's no fair!" Italy chimed in, "and even if he is crazy then why can't he take pills to make the scary people go away? I do!"

"Mr. Vargas, I am well aware of your condition as well, a simple case of Attention Deficit Disorder, nothing like Schizophrenia," the doctor said, chuckling lightly.

"Italy has no such issue! I have known him for many years, and I know he may act childish, but he is a good man! Britain has a very high influence on common society, and his presence means much to us emotionally and economically! I ask you to please consider his release," Germany said, trying to be as reasonable as possible.

"Yeah, I know what it like in those hospitals aru. Many patients mistreated, and-"

"ENOUGH!" the doctor roared, cutting China off, who looked infuriated.

"Uh, you guys? I don't think we should argue..." Canada was cut off as the countries became louder and more demanding.

The doctor stood calmly at the head of the room, before speaking sternly over the eruption of opinions.

"Mr. Kirkland is unfit to serve his country, and the United Nations. His release will not be determined until he has shown steady improvement, which he has not. It could last the rest of his life, and he will be contained until his violence has been subdued. I am sure you are all now... dismissed," the doctor said gravely, glancing at the Queen.

She nodded solemnly. France hung his head, sighing, before gaining a determined look once again.

"We'll be back, even if we need to make a court case of it. See you there, eh..." France paused, realizing he did not know the name of the grey doctor.

"Karl Vincent. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Bonnefoy."

**A/n: Here's another chapter :) Was this okay? I tried to add all the countries inputs at least once. Hope its good.**


	4. Tragedy

**Tragedy**

England had never cried so much before. In solitary confinement however, it was unavoidable. The dead silence, the horrid darkness, it was overwhelming. At first, he fought back the tears, telling himself he was stronger than that. He swore that he wouldn't let them break him. After three days, he had become an emotional wreck. During his long hours in the small room, England had quite some time to catch up on his thoughts. He would think about the hallway outside, Zak, or his nation friends. He thought about his doctor, and his own eyebrows. He convinced himself that he was not crazy, repeating it again and again in his head.

"I'm not bloody crazy," he muttered.

It was difficult to contain all of his emotions at first, and he eventually just let them run wild. Munsun had grown irritated of the constant insults at both meal and bathroom times. England had eventually thrown a punch at the hulking man. He knew it would have severe consequences, and it did. Munsun had requisitioned a strait jacket for him, and the doctor had happily signed it off. The only time it was removed was while he was in the loo, and it was very bothersome. England constantly complained about it, but Munsun just laughed at him and said that it was fitting he be in one, as he was insane. England just snarled at him. He had been dreaming again as well. He noticed that his dreams were recurring, but it didn't bother him. When he woke up, he remembered the details vividly, but after about five minutes, he had forgotten most of it.

It was around noon of the fifth day that something strange happened. England had been sitting in his cell, wondering just why the bloody hell it was so cold in an insulated cell, when a noise erupted from the hallway. It was brief, but he was sure it was there. He strained to hear something, anything. He pressed his ear to the door and listened.

"What am I doing? These cells are soundproof," he whispered to himself angrily, then lay back down.

After a moment, it was there again, very faint. It was shrill, and unsettling. It made the hairs on the back of England's neck stand up. The door flew open, and a distressed looking guard stood there. Red lights were spinning in the hall, and very loud alarms were blaring at brief intervals. Guards, nurses, and doctors were scrambling through the hall, shouting. The guard was pulled away, and England's doctor came in and wrestled cuffs onto his wrists.

"You are needed in Mess Hall 3, Mr. Kirkland!" the doctor shouted, and pulled England out.

"What the bloody hell is going on? Let go of me, git, explain this!" England yelled, struggling against the doctor.

"Zakhar has escaped Sector 4, and has demanded to see you. You need to follow me," the doctor said impatiently, dragging England down the hall.

He gasped. Zak had escaped from Sector 4? Wasn't that impossible? A dozen questions ran through the Brit's head, but all were unanswered. It had all happened so fast, the reality of the situation had barely triggered in England's mind. The chaotic scene unfolding around him was the first he had ever seen occur in this hospital. The doors to the mess hall loomed ahead. England began to sweat, wondering just how he was involved in all of this madness. When he was brought into the room, a horrendous sight met his eyes. Zakhar was pinned against the wall, twenty or so guard against him, steadily holding pistols at the man. Zak saw England, and his eyes sparkled.

"My friend! Glad you have come, this situation has gotten out of hand."

He spoke so calmly, even with twenty fully loaded weapons aimed at him.

"Zak, what is this about?" England asked in disbelief.

Zak motioned for him to come close, to speak with him. England glanced up at his doctor, searching for approval. The doctor responded with a shove, throwing England into the circle, facing Zak. He glanced in worry at the weapons, but Zak just laughed loudly.

"Do not worry about them, they won't shoot. Have to avoid a lawsuit, eh?" Zak said, pulling England in.

"What do you want? Please?" England pleaded.

"I know who you are," Zak whispered into his ear.

"A man of great power, of the government. I was once as well," he said hurriedly.

"How do you know that?" England asked, surprised.

"Because I ask questions, because I am different from the rest. Escape is your only option Arthur. Escape now, or you will be here forever," Zak breathed, gripping England's arm tightly.

"How- I don't-"

"I will throw myself at them. You will have about fifteen seconds to run for the hallway. You will be caught," Zak said, sounding as if he had rehearsed this entire speech.

England's heart pounded in his ears, and everything felt hot. Zak spoke through a tunnel, so it seemed. This could not be happening.

"Find my file, in I-5. I left a legacy here today, and you will do the same."

In a fluid motion, Zak flung England from his person. He flew forward, screaming curses and madness at the guards. A stream of gunfire erupted from their barrels, and bullets pounded into the Russian's body. Both England and his doctor cried out "NO!" in unison. By the time Zak hit the floor, England had bolted for the door.

"Stop him!" the usually boring drawl of the doctor was broken by anger.

England ran as hard as he could, as fast as his legs could carry him. He broke into a sweat by the time he had reached the end of the hall. But he kept running, sprinting towards I-5. He had reached the door handle, when someone grabbed his shirt.

"No, dammit no!" England shouted as he was thrown to the ground.

Munsun looked furious, as he began to beat England with his fists. He curled up protectively, sobbing. As Munsun hit him, he attempted to crawl to the metal door of the information room. Soon, the doctor, and others were there as well, all assisting in subduing the screaming, cursing man. England flung his fists, kicked out, and bit at the foreign hands surrounding him. He caught the gleam of a needle in the doctors hand, and ferociously kicked it away. The needle clattered to the floor, and England scrambled towards it, desperate to get the upper hand. His arms were quickly restrained, and a sharp pain filled his left shoulder. The hallway became hazy, the many faces blended together, and he slipped into sweet unconciousness.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

An emergency meeting had been called in by France, which Germany had approved. The subject of the meeting was not of world affairs, but rather, of their current situation. Their failure in London had determined France to continue pressuring England's bosses. He had come up with a few ideas of his own for appealing to them, and releasing England. Some of them were reasonable, while others were simply wild fantasies of heists and break-outs. The usual conference room in Paris was used, an elaborate hotel that France found very homey. All of the nations that had attended the meeting in London were present, as well as a few others who supported the cause. Germany announced that France had the floor, and he stood, brushing golden locks out of his face.

"Everyone, I'd like to thank you all for joining us. Angleterre's hospitalization has gone on long enough, I think we all agree."

There were nods across the room, and France was satisfied.

"Several days ago, we tried to appeal to the Prime Minister. However, we were unsuccessful. I have personally seen marks on Arthur's wrists, and believe they may be abusing him..."

There were sharp whispers and accusations among the countries, anger increasing. The very aura of the room became darker.

"I think, that if we could prove this, we could have Angleterre released. Think about it, the hospital would be shut down as well, saving many humans from the abuse as well," France said, confident in his speech.

Germany cleared his throat and stood.

"It is a rather harsh, and serious accusation, France. This should be treated with caution," he said, shifting his tie.

"Why can't we just bust him out? Like, CIA or something?" America questioned.

"Because the facility is legal," Germany said, "and we must not do anything rash. You must think of world affairs as well, if England's bosses were angry with any country..."

"Ve-, they could get mad! Those guys have been hurting all of our countries," Italy said.

"Exactly," France said, "they have completely re-written their trade laws. They have severely limited them, Angleterre has faced recession. Amerique, you know what it's like."

"Yeah, it sucks. We need to get him out of there, so the world can get back on track."

"We need a warrant," Germany said.

"Then we will get one! Hospitals creep me out anyways, aru, I don't like them," China said.

All of the others began to talk as well. The only one who had not said a word was Japan, and France had noticed.

"What do you have to say, Japan?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Japan looked surprised, and spoke nervously.

"Well, I'm not sure... I mean, Britain did act very strangely at my home... Chasing something around my yard that I could not see, talking to himself. It was disturbing," he said.

This caused an uproar, the nations all turning on the poor Japanese man. It wasn't until America launched himself at his friend in anger that Germany begun to scream.

"Enough nonsense! We will not fight amongst ourselves over this affair, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. America, I thought you were more mature than that, but apparently not. We will get the warrant, and we will investigate. If the hospital has no evidence, there is nothing to do but wait. Now, settle down and return to your individual rooms, this discussion continues tomorrow when we have that warrant! Dismissed!" He screamed, irritation and anger exploding into a screaming fit.

Everyone fell silent, and started to file out, one by one. America muttered an apology to Japan, and walked out with his head down. France looked at Germany timidly. The German had put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

"Even with England hospitalized, they still fight. I still have headaches at the end of meetings, and my economy is going downhill. I feel congested, exhausted, and irritated." He looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

"The faster things get back to normal, the better it will be for all of us," France said comfortingly, patting Germany's arm.

"Yeah, it will. So, what happens if we get the warrant? How can we prove the wrongdoings?" Germany asked quietly.

"We will have to see for ourselves. I don't like the look of Angleterre's doctor, I think he might try and stop us. We won't let him," France said, a cold look crossing his face.

"Yeah, he's a shady character. We can't let him get to us."

"We wont, Germany. We wont."

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Nobody said a word about Zak the next day. Life in the hospital had returned to normal, and England had been released from solitary confinement. He was transferred from his original cell to a quieter, more secluded section of the hospital. It was much higher security, with guards posted at every door, and making rounds in the hallway, but apart from them, it was mostly silent. The patients in Section 3 were very withdrawn, mostly just sitting and making up stories in their heads. England lay on a white bed, which was rather uncomfortable, but at least he had a bed. It was like laying on a fluffy cloud compared to the lumpy padding of his solitary confinement cell. England thought things over, playing through the intense events of the previous day. Zak had somehow escaped Section 4, and had told England to find his file in I-5. He had been shot, and England was unsuccessful. England had, at first, asked several of the guards about the events, but they had just stared at him with raised eyebrows, confusion on their faces. England knew it was a facade, it was impossible for everyone not to know. The other prisoners did not seem to know either, but how could they? Some looked at him in silence, and others bowed to him, a sign of respect.

It was strange, the looks he got. He had asked about Zak, but nobody seemed to recall who he was. He asked about Section 4, and everyone said that they had heard of an escape, but nothing more. They did not say who had escaped, just simply said 'there was an escape' and left it hanging at that. It irritated England that they could not be forthcoming, but he continued to press on. They relentlessly ignored him, avoiding his gaze, or bowing at him. It was quite bothersome.

In Socialization, nobody said a word to England. He sat in the corner of the room, watching the others. They left him be, just like before. Well... before Zak. Even though the Russian was absolutely terrifying, England couldn't help but mourn his passing. The mess hall he had died in was open for business the next day, with no trace of blood, bullets, or struggle.

"Bastards really covered this up," England said as he got his food.

The guard asked him if he was feeling alright, and England retorted with the fact that no, he was not fine, and that his damned friend had died before his eyes.

"You don't talk to anyone in here though... Who do you mean?" the guard asked, scooping a bit of stuffing onto England's tray.

"Zak, you bloody git. Bastards killed him, they... right over there," England said, pointing at the wall.

The guard did not respond, but gave him an odd look before waving him along. England pouted. Clearly, the death was confidential. It was murder, after all. Munsun was in the mess hall that day, and approached England. Nobody paid a second glance at the hulking guard.

"It wasn't real, crazy man," he said, sitting down next to England.

He let out a low growl, and Munsun laughed.

"You know you're crazy, don't deny it. What do you really want in I-5?" Munsun asked, prodding England in the ribs.

"It's not your business," England hissed.

"It is one hundred percent 'my business'" Munsun said haughtily.

"Go away."

"If you insist. You wont find it, anyways. It wouldn't be in there. Not I-5, no. Try looking elsewhere next time." Munsun grinned before lumbering off.

This statement had deeply upset the Englishman. Had Munsun just tried to help him, or was he just being sarcastic? He waved it off as Munsun's stupid sense of humor, but wasn't entirely sure. What if Zak's file really wasn't in there? England didn't have much time to process the thought, however, as a new presence joined him.

"Maybe it isn't in that room. Maybe it's in your doctor's room."

England turned. The new voice was very familiar. It was Captain Hook, his gruff English accent twinkling with happiness, and a sense of care-free. England turned and stared at his tray. If anybody caught him talking to himself, it was back to his cell with a tranquilizer in his arm.

"You need to see for yourself, Britain. Check it out. Tinkerbell and I have been talking. We think its a conspiracy," Hook said, resting his arms on the table and smiling at England.

"I'll check if I can. It's not safe Hook, we can't talk now."

However, when England turned to glance at his enormous pirate friend, he was gone. England closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

"I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy," he repeated again and again.

But were all a little crazy... right?

**A/n: It's been a few days since I've updated :o im sorry! also, this chapter was intense! I liked writing it, and it may seem a bit confusing right now, but never fear! I have a story plan worked out, and it will make sense in later chapters :) muahaha, off to write more fanfiction!**

**ps: thank you to all who reviewed! It means so much to me when I get online and check, and I have wonderful comments! It really makes my day, and I cant help but crack a smile when each review is read. Thank you! :D**


	5. Mistakes

**Chapter 5: Mistakes**

America stepped out of the stuffy cab and stared at the bleak, gray hospital in front of him. A large statue of two angels, wrapped in thorns, stood in the courtyard. A small fountain trickled under it, and reflected the stone angels. America shivered, half from the sight of the statue, and half from the cold, sharp air around him. It was always cold in Europe, it seemed.

He walked forward, ringing a buzzer next to a big, metal door. It soon swung open and America stepped inside. Two men waited there. After a quick scan with a metal detector, and a close inspection of his glasses when the buzzer rang loudly, they let him through, escorting him straight to the visitors section. The room was blank, and white, apart from the lumpy couch in the corner. England sat in a chair in the center.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and his eyes widened.

"Alfred! Oh my god, Alfred," he said, and ran to America.

The American embraced him in a tight hug, then released a few seconds later.

"Hey Iggy. How's it going?" America asked quietly.

England bit his lip. It was certainly not going good.

"As good as it can get. I wont lie, it's been tough. But, I can handle it," he said, trying not to let his emotions break his words.

"Did France give you the tea I got for you? I know it's your favorite," America said, trying, yet failing, to smile.

At this, it was all England could do not to break down and sob. He felt pathetic, but it was just so emotional. He hadn't had anything but tap water in over a year.

"Y-yeah. It was excellent Alfred, thank you," he said, his lip quivering, and tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

He tried to blink them away, but as he did, one rolled down his cheek. America noticed.

"Iggy? Are you... are you..." he couldn't find the right words to say as his big brother began to cry freely, sparkling tears running down his face.

"I- it's just so- so bloody awful..." England choked out, then hugged his former colony with all the strength he could.

He could smell freshly cut pine, and smoke on America's bomber jacket. The jacket was worn and slightly tattered, but very comforting. America wished he could hug England tighter, but feared breaking something in the frail man if he did.

"I'll get you out of here, okay? I'll get you out, even if I have to break you out" he whispered.

Suddenly, fear filled England's eyes, and he shook his head no at America. America was confused, starting to ask what was wrong, when England put a finger to his lips, desperation etched across his face. Then he mouthed something to the American.

_"They are listening."_

America suddenly realized the danger. He shot his head around, looking for microphones, bugs, anything out of place. There could be bugs anywhere, in the light on the ceiling, in the couch, the chair, even on England. America turned.

"France will be in next week Iggy, see you," he said, hugging England one last time before heading to the door.

It opened before he could even hit the buzzer, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Jumpy, eh? Let's go, Mr. Jones," one of the guards said.

America shot England an apologetic look before the door was shut. England could only bite his lip and pray that they hadn't heard, which wasn't very likely.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Karl Vincent sat in his office, contemplating what he had just heard. That obnoxious, arrogant bastard Alfred Jones had just told his patient he would break him out. Of course, the microphones had picked it up. Was it a serious threat? Would that idiot American actually attempt to break him out? He sighed, slipping the CD recording into a small plastic bag and storing it in his file cabinet. He thumbed through files until he found what he was looking for. He stared at it for a few minutes before opening it. That was his most troublesome file. It constantly mocked him, daring him to come in and try to solve it. He sighed and put it back. Had he failed his patients? What was this anyways? Of course, that wasn't his only concern. There was Arthur Kirkland to contend with.

He had wondered just what it might take to break into that schizophrenic mind, and it seemed that he had only succeeded in confusing the man even more. After that little 'show' last week it was only a matter of finding out what Kirkland had discovered. But it seemed he had discovered the right thing, according to his theory.

"Doctor, we have bugged Jones. He's on his way to the airport. So far, nothing, but we have Listeners on guard," a voice interrupted him.

The doctor shook his head at the voice, then turned to it. One of those pesky guards. If only they wouldn't interrupt his important thoughts!

"Thank you. Is Kirkland in his cell?"

"Yes sir, he's stable."

"Good, dismissed."

Vincent sighed and leaned back in his chair. Kirkland was his next biggest challenge. It was only a matter of time before the puzzle could be pieced together. Just a matter of time...

**XxXxXxXxXx**

France chewed his fingernail as he thought about what America had just told him. He knew it was a disgusting habit, but he couldn't help it. He was stressed. How could he jeopardize everything they've worked for? Sure, emotions were running high, but that was no reason to make hollow threats and promises of breaking England out! It meant nothing, and now it could make them all look bad in the eyes of England's government, if they had heard.

"Oh Amerique, why did you do that?" he wondered out loud as he pattered his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

Suddenly, the phone rang. The caller ID was Germany. France quickly picked it up, and was greeted with Germany's worrisome voice.

"France? We need you to come to Berlin, for an emergency meeting," he said, in a huge rush.

"What? But we just had a meeting Paris a day ago, why another?" France asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Britain's Prime Minister is threatening to arrest Alfred, and we _need_ you here, France! This is very serious, so please, help support us," Germany said, anger and disbelief lacing his words at the same time.

"O- of course. I will be there in a few hours."

"We may not have that long."

**XxXxXxXxXx**

France had rushed off the plane and taken a rental car as soon as he had landed in Germany. He sped through the streets of Berlin, swerving to avoid other cars, his hair in his face. He brushed it away and took a sharp turn, screeching to a halt in front of the meeting area. He rushed inside, ignoring the secretaries and running straight to the meeting room. He flung the door open, and came face to face with England's Prime Minister.

"Prime Minister, what is this about?" France asked, breathless.

"Mr. Jones has been plotting to break Arthur out of his hospital, Mr. Bonnefoy. He is under arrest," the Prime Minister said, who was flushed with worry.

France looked past him, to Alfred, who was pinned against a wall by three government agents. His eyes pleaded with France's, who rushed to him.

"What evidence do you have? What the hell is your problem anyways?" France raised his voice at the Prime Minister.

"I- I am afraid, we have documented Mr. Jones' voice, saying that he would break Arthur out if necessary. We must detain him, and he will stand fair trial-"

"Fair trial? Oh, like Angleterre? He didn't get a chance at all! So, _Va te faire foutre, Alfred est innocent salaud égoïste!" _France erupted in anger, spewing French at the Prime Minister.

"He was plotting a breakout!" The Prime Minister said, more desperate than demanding.

"Oh, _vraiment_? You know Alfred, he would never do something like that! His words can be a bit rash, but he would never actually attempt something like that, it could get us all into trouble," France said angrily.

"It already has, Mr. Bonnefoy. We are awaiting confirmation on his arrest," the Prime Minister said, turning away from France.

"Please reconsider," Germany asked, "He did not mean it. Alfred has always had terrible word choice, but he never does anything immoral. It is not fair, he should not be taken from us."

"I am sorry Ludwig, it cannot be done."

Just then, a bleep echoed from the Prime Minister's phone. He flipped it open, and paled a bit.

"Release Mr. Jones," he whispered regretfully.

All of the countries turned on him with a mixture of shock and anger on their faces.

"Why?" America asked.

"Your government reputation has saved you, Mr. Jones. You are free to go," he said, paling even more at the looks of relief, then anger directed towards him, on their faces.

"Get the hell out of Berlin," Germany growled, taking a step toward him, causing the other officials to tense.

Germany laughed.

"Don't excite yourselves, I wont hurt him. Now leave us in peace," Germany said, turning around.

As soon as they were out the door, Germany slammed it after them.

"Well... that was close," America said, breathing heavily.

Suddenly, Germany rounded on him.

"What the hell were you thinking, idiot? You just jeopardized everything that we have worked for, trying to get England released! Now it may never happen, why did you say that? Were you even thinking?"

America tried to talk, opening and closing his mouth several times, before simply staring at the floor.

"I cannot believe this, what will we do now?" Germany shouted, pounding a fist into the table.

France walked over and gave America a reassuring pat on the arm, then turned to everyone else.

"This will not matter. We will have Angleterre released, no matter what. This is just a minor setback, we can still appeal to the court. Remember, Germany and I will be investigating the hospital next week. The UN has approved the warrant, and have set a date for us. Were going to shut that place down," France said.

The other countries murmured disbelieving statements, and shook there heads. France just grit his teeth and turned to Germany.

"Don't worry. We _will_ get him out."

**A/n: Uh oh Alfred, what have you done! It was just a mistake, right? What happens now? Thank you reviewers, you always make my day :) **

**Translations: **_Oh vraiment?_ = Oh, really?

_Va te faire foutre, Alfred est innocent salaud égoïste!_ = Screw you, Alfred is innocent you selfish bastard!


	6. No Way Out

**Chapter 6: No Way Out**

"Do you understand what you just did?"

America sat silently, staring down at the Presidential Seal on the floor of the Oval Office. He tapped his fingers together silently, avoiding the hard gaze of his boss. The President continued to stare at him for a moment or two before leaning back in his seat, sighing in exasperation.

"You need to think before you speak Alfred. You know that diplomatic relations with the United Kingdom have been on a steady decline, and now you practically threaten to commit a federal crime in their own country?"

America removed Texas, rubbing the lenses on his jacket, before putting them back. The President sighed once again.

"You do know that it is considered rude to ignore the President?"

America spoke for the first time that evening.

"I'm not ignoring you. I just didn't have anything to say."

The President studied his nation for a moment, wondering just what could possibly be going through the man's head. His usual 'hero' attitude was gone, and he wasn't smiling. He looked rather depressed, and tired, as if he hadn't slept much the previous night. Come to think of it, he probably hadn't. Obama opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut short as Alfred started to talk.

"He's always been there for me, even after the Revolution. I need to be there for him."

Obama raised an eyebrow. Of course, America was referring to England. It was true, Great Britain had always been America's closest ally. The Prime Minister had always backed them up before, and Arthur was always there to make sure they aided America in each and every crisis the country found itself in. Even if he had thought that Alfred's ideas were ludicrous, he had backed them up anyways.

Alfred looked up, tiredness evident in the shadows under his eyes.

"Remember the attacks? Iggy was the first to support me, to care for me. He was always by my side, until I was able to walk on my own again. Then we went to war together. I- I can't just leave him in there."

Now it was the President's turn to remain silent. Alfred never brought up those events... It was agreed upon that they would move on when they had taken the terrorist leader's life. He was truly hurt. America breathed heavily before looking down again.

"I just don't know what to do anymore."

Obama rested his head in his hand.

"I'm sorry Alfred."

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Life was most certainly boring for Arthur. At least he wasn't locked away in solitary confinement. Currently, his hands were strapped tightly to the sides of the brown chair he reclined in. His doctor sat in front of him behind a large oak desk, a single lamp casting depressing shadows across the room. Doctor Vincent eyed his patient with an interested smirk. Arthur was quite rude, actually. It was very distasteful, after the reports had told the grey doctor that Arthur was really quite a gentleman, reserved and quiet. It now appeared that that was not the case.

"Let's try this again, shall we Arthur?"

Arthur did not let his eyes leave the wall as he retorted.

"Does your wife love you? Probably not, if you even had one. You look like the lonely, rejected type."

The doctor smiled, barely concealing a small chuckle as he shook his head.

"My relationships are a personal matter, Mr. Kirkland. Now, let's discuss these visions of yours. The one you call Hook?"

"You know, it really wouldn't surprise me if you turned out to be a woman. I could definitely see that."

Doctor Vincent chose to ignore the comment.

"This Hook, the recordings we've gathered... He seems to have grown violent, by average standards. When schizophrenics see increasingly violent images, we develop a problem. Patients develop a tendency to physically lash out at real people. I've actually seen patients believe that a hallucination has murdered somebody, when in actuality, they had committed the crime. You understand the consequences of that, right Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur just smirked.

"That's not me doctor. I'm not a violent man. Though I'm sure you are. The type of man who would beat his children regularly if he had some, correct?"

Vincent frowned a bit at that. Really, it was quite distasteful for someone of such status to say these things. It was almost as if he were oblivious to the microphone on the desk, recording every word he said.

"Arthur, if we could just make a breakthrough with you, then maybe we could negotiate an early release? Or at least a form of leave. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Don't call me Arthur. It's not your place."

"Then what is my place Arthur?"

England's eye twitched, and he shut his eyes tight.

"Why, I don't know, maybe six feet under? Or maybe Hell would suit you better?"

"Come now, let's make some progress. Have the visions become violent?"

"They're bloody real you ignorant-"

"Have they killed anyone?"

"Shut up, or-"

"I have the files."

Arthur stopped short, his breath hitching. Files? The files that Zak had told him to retrieve? If he could get them, unveil the conspiracy... He would be free, he'd have the place shut down.

"What files?"

"The ones he told you to get. Before he died."

They were Zak's files. England was breathing heavily, and sweating a bit. He strained against his bindings, the damned straps bit into his wrists horribly.

"Give them to me, bloody give them!"

"If you want them, come get them."

England cried out in desperation.

"I can't! I'm tied down, I can't! Give them over, please just give them to me!"

"Get them yourself Mr. Kirkland, you are capable. Stand, and take the files from my desk."

"You bastard, stop it! This is torture, you sick bastard!" England screamed now, sobs wracking through his body.

"You aren't tied down Mr. Kirkland. You were never tied down."

The world seemed to go still. England looked down to discover that, indeed, there were no straps on his wrists. Faint marks from previous straps were still visible on his slender wrists, but he was most certainly not tied down now. It made no sense. England blinked, expecting the straps to have returned, but they did not. He raised his hands in disbelief. Finally, he turned to Doctor Vincent, who held the files in his hand, setting them gently on his desk, smiling softly.

"Take them."

England reached out tentatively, fingers grazing the manilla envelope.

"It's alright. Look inside." England looked up with a hesitant flicker of disbelief, before opening the folder.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

France realized that his heart was pounding as Germany parked his car outside the large hospital on the outskirts of London. It was raining, a common occurrence in Britain, though today it just made the entire situation seem depressing and ominous. Germany turned the car off and sighed, brushing in imaginary bit of dirt from his suit sleeve.

"Alright Germany, let's go. Maybe we can see Angleterre as well."

"Ja," Germany said with a sigh.

They stepped out of the car, Germany clutching the UN stamped search warrant in his fist. Their expensive shoes clacked across the cobblestones as they walked across the courtyard, echoing off the high walls that surrounded the courtyard. Two guards stood at either side of the front doors, arms folded and eyes hidden by sunglasses. France couldn't help but think that the entryway, with all its security, looked very American. Germany handed one the warrant, and both looked to it, before nodding in unison and handing it back.

"Let's go. If we find any violation of policy, we report it to the Prime Minister as quickly as possible," Germany said.

France nodded, and they walked in. The front lobby was stuffy and grey, much like the rest of the hospital. They ignored the lobby, instead moving towards the hallway that held the first group of containment cells, Sector 1. Relatively low guard, the doors were made entirely of plexiglass, allowing a full view of the patients inside. They wore gray pants, and no shirts. Some smirked at the sight of the two official looking men, others sending rude gestures their way. There was no sign of anything illegal. France was disappointed. He had hoped they could easily find something, but it appeared that it would take more careful searching. Sector 2 was a bit more interesting. The patients here were under higher security, with guards posted at either end of the long hallway. The cell doors were metal, and some patients were restrained to the beds by straps on their wrists and ankles. There was laughter, and hissing as the two peered into cells.

"Can they really restrain them like that?" France asked, hoping that the answer was no.

"Ja, if they pose a threat to themselves or others. It is legal," Germany said.

The center of the hospital held the dining halls, and the Socialization rooms 1 and 2. They appeared to be large gymnasium type of rooms, with tables and hopscotch squares scattered around the floor. France frowned, realizing that it was quite legal looking. He sighed, and they continued through the dining halls. They thoroughly inspected each room, though all file cabinets in the information rooms were locked. They eventually came to the office areas, stopping outside of one. The plaque on the door read Vincent, Karl. France knocked slowly.

"Enter," the bored, English drawl came through a speaker next to the door.

They walked in, finding the doctor behind his desk, hands folded. He wore a dull smile.

"I saw you both traipsing around the facility. I assume it has met your standards?"

France scowled.

"We have not yet seen Sector 3, or solitary confinement. We simply wished to ask if we could see Arthur."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Arthur has fallen ill, unfortunately. He is in the medical section, we have yet to determine his ailment, though it is leaning towards one of a... psychological nature."

Germany narrowed his eyes. France looked livid.

"What the hell did you do to him? We need to see him!"

"Ah, no visitors, I'm afraid. Next week, perhaps."

France stepped forward.

"Non, we must see him now!"

"That was not in the warrant, Mr. Bonnefoy. You may continue your search, though you will not see Arthur."

He waved his hand and smiled. France growled, tensing up. Germany gripped his shoulder and shook his head in a firm "no." France resigned, simply leering at the doctor before they turned and left, slamming the door a bit harder than necessary.

"I hate that man," France said, quivering a bit in anger.

"I know. But please, we must continue. Ignore him for now," Germany said calmly, and France nodded.

Sector 3 was by far the most interesting thing yet. Here, the patients were all tied down to hard looking cots, wearing a jumpsuit, and most remaining silent. Some cried in the rooms, and some spoke to nothing. Armed guards held assault rifles at intervals throughout the hallway, looking warily at the nations. France bit his lip. It was a melancholy sight, really. It was also quite frustrating, as nothing seemed to be illegal.

"Well, that's the entire facility. We've been in here for nearly three hours Francis," Germany said, looking disappointed.

France made a small 'oh' when he realized just how long they had really been there. He seemed to ponder something for a moment.

"Angleterre has mentioned something in the past. It was just casual I think, but I'm sure he mentioned a fourth cell section."

"Hmm? That is a bit odd... Are you sure Francis?"

"I think so. It may be nothing. We've scaled the entire facility, oui?"

"Ja, that should be everything. Let's go, shall we?"

France looked hesitantly around the cell block, before nodding. The two left, disappointment and a bit of anger brewing in their hearts.

**A/n: Okay, I am so sorry that I havn't updated! Oh my god, I can't believe it has been this long since I updated, I am sorry sorry sorry! I hope this chapter isn't bad /: forgive me? Let me know what you think, I thought a few interesting things happened in this chapter, but thinking back im not sure how good it really is... R&R :)**


	7. Lost Cause

**Chapter 7: Lost Cause**

Arthur knew that he wasn't crazy. He knew it, and he absolutely knew that the other countries understood him. Nobody else seemed to though. He lay in a white hospital bed, staring at the bleak, grey wall in front of him. He had to get out of here. There was absolutely no chance he could stay here any longer. There were riots in London. He knew. He had not seen the news, had not heard the word of any others in the facility. But it was painful. For every innocent man, woman, or child that was killed, pangs of pain washed through him. For every shop, flat, and car that was burned in the city, he could feel flames licking at his skin. Yet, he was trapped, unable to move against the straps that held him down. His friends had visited him in this place, he was aware, but even they could not break him of the trance he was in now.

Amongst the pain, he was dimly aware that he had held Zak's file. He had most definitely opened it, had read its contents. Or so he believed. When he read the words, something had triggered in his head, and he had blacked out. Perhaps he had been drugged? Arthur thought this scenario was very reasonable. It did seem like that bastard doctor to taunt him with the file, and then knock him out before he was able to learn the secrets. Just as this thought entered his mind, a voice filled the room, unlike any of the nurses that came to feed him regularly. This voice was heavenly, as if God Himself had sent it down to ease the pain.

"Angleterre."

He searched the room with bright green eyes, which soon fell on France. His golden hair was flowing, his face kind and soft, smiling at him sadly.

"F-France," he croaked hoarsely, fresh tears of happiness spilling down his cheeks.

France strode forward, placing a warm hand on England's forehead. He stroked the other's messy blonde hair for a bit, then spoke again.

"I came to take you away. I came to free you mon ami," he said, moving toward the straps.

"France... How did you get in here?"

"I just walked in, why?"

England did not answer. He was too busy staring in shock at his friends, who had lined up behind France. A golden light seemed to smother the room, as Captain Hook stepped forward.

"France, move!"

"Why Angleterre? I am rescuing you," he said, oblivious.

Captain Hook placed his actual hand on France's shoulder, causing the nation to frown. He turned around, and there was a sickening sound of metal slicing into flesh. Arthur screamed in terror as the pirate withdrew his metal hook, then slashed it into France's stomach a second time. France fell backward, smashing his head off of the end of England's hospital bed, blood soaking the floor and spraying onto the sheets. Hook walked over to England's bedside, wiping the blood off of his metal appendage with his other sleeve. England gaped in shock, unable to utter a noise as his "friends" gathered around.

Flying Mint Bunny hovered next to him before resting on his pillow, nuzzling into his cheek. Arthur wanted to be sick, trying desperately to move away from them. Hook smiled kindly at him, sitting on the bed.

"It's going to be alright Britain. We will stay with you."

"You... y-you fucking killed him!" England shouted, his voice cracking in fear as the others smiled at him.

"I thought you hated him Britain? Of course you did. He never did anything for you, did he? Those 'nations' all they ever did was harass you. After all, it was them who put you in here, am I right? Germany, America, France, they all took part. Your boss, he wouldn't have known if they didn't warn him. Right?"

"SHUT UP!" England screamed, thrashing against the straps that held his wrists and ankles. He writhed around pathetically, before breaking down and sobbing.

His friends took their places on the bed, warm against him. For the first time in his life, England hated them.

"From now on, it is just us Britain."

**XxXxXxXxXx**

London was a mess. Alfred had seen two men, innocent people, die at the hands of the police. They had shot into a crowd of innocent protesters, unarmed and not dangerous. Of course, there were those who were not so innocent. Some burned buildings, beat and shot others, robbed stores, and sprayed hateful graffiti. The Prime Minister had announced over live television that Britain had broken its alliance with the United States of America. Of course, Alfred had flown over on a private jet, hellbent on confronting the man. He wanted England back, to be safe. He wanted to give the Prime Minister a piece of his mind, to show him that Arthur was absolutely not crazy. He knew the riots were hurting Arthur, he had experienced things like this before. History was painful for countries.

"_With the death toll in London rising into the high thirties, it is apparent that the police are not able to contain the riots. The Prime Minister has announced that no help will be accepted from the United States, a very controversial move in this time of crisis. Talks of rebellion against the Government have surfaced..."_

Alfred switched off the radio, rubbing his temples in a feeble attempt to fight off the headache that was beginning to surface. He was angry with this situation, and had been getting more and more headaches. The one thought in his mind was to be the hero, to rescue England from that nightmarish hospital. To talk to him again, to laugh when he got offended about his cooking, hell, at this point he'd eat anything the man placed before him. He just wanted life to be normal again. His own country was strong, but without Britain on his side... Things could go downhill fast. He wondered if his boss was making an effort to speak with the Prime Minister, hoping that the man's speaking ability was as strong as usual. The President usually preformed his speeches flawlessly. America shook his head as he drove past a crowd of rioting citizens, locking eyes with the striped British flag that they held. It was on fire. His eyes transfixed on the flag, and the rest of the world seemed to slow incredibly. All he saw was the flames engulfing the flag.

A horn blared and Alfred snapped back to reality, turning the steering wheel hard to avoid a head on collision with another vehicle. He slapped himself across each cheek to ensure that he was indeed paying attention to the road. In a matter of minutes, he reached the Parlaiment. He walked in with his head high, holding up his official papers at a variety of checkpoints. He passed through easily, as many guards recognized his presence. Without bothering to knock on the door to the Prime Minister's office, he flung the door open a bit harder than necessary. It banged loudly against the wall, causing the pale man behind the desk to jump in surprise.

"Alfred... I'm afraid this is a bad time," the man said shakily, wringing his hands together repeatedly.

America just glared at him, striding forward and standing tall above his desk. The Prime Minister visibly gulped, and Alfred almost laughed.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked venomously, placing both hands on the desk.

The Prime Minister jumped back, quivering a bit.

"I'm doing what is best for my country!" he squeaked.

Alfred glared at him, backing up and turning away from him.

"What are you accomplishing by locking up Arthur?"

"Arthur is insane... You have seen it Alfred, I know you have. He talks to those bloody fairy tales."

Alfred tried to swallow the anger that was rising up in him. Of course he had seen England talk to his friends. He had always thought that his former caretaker had done it to keep the loneliness at bay. He lived in that enormous house after all, with nobody around for days on end. Well, unless you counted France spying or dropping by to poke fun at his cooking, but other than that he was very alone.

"Why did you break our alliance? Our countries have been allies for a long time."

The Prime Minister rubbed his temples, and Alfred turned, staring at him hard.

"Britain will do much better on its own Alfred. The country, not Arthur. America is failing, you know that. Your own President can't hide it any longer, the economy is failing, the choices your country is making are hurting us... You borrow money from us, from China, from everyone, and it is never paid back. We paid our war debts, you took the money. America is failing, becoming weak, and we absolutely cannot afford to hand out money to you-"

"I'm not weak."

It came out as a whisper, though Alfred had meant it to be much louder. It sounded fairly pathetic, and sad. He was well aware of the situation that his country was in, he didn't need this man reminding him of it.

"You understand Alfred. This is a win or lose situation. We cannot afford war, we cannot afford debt, and we cannot afford the involvement of other countries. It is obvious that Arthur is not well, and I believe that the stress of a failing economy is causing it. Though Arthur may be a special situation. We are spending money we don't have Alfred-"

"That doesn't mean anything! You're making excuses!" America shouted, whirling around.

The Prime Minister flinched at the loud voice.

"I have spoken the truth about my political reasons for breaking our alliance. However, my personal reasons for keeping Arthur in that facility are not the same. Now, please leave Alfred, before I have you escorted."

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut soon after.

"I'm not weak," was all he said before turning and walking briskly from the office.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

The Doctor sat in his office, shuffling through several files on his desk. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, as if he hadn't slept for several days, and his facial hair neglected, a dark shade coming in around his chin. He slapped the files down and rubbed at the lids of his eyes, sighing in exasperation. On each folder was a large, red, **CLASSIFIED** stamp. He was currently researching many different things, at least ten tabs open on the internet. The Prime Minister himself had ordered him to find an alternative to a lobotomy, one without actual surgery. This was quite complicated, because most of the options involved surgery of the brain. It was very stressful. He glanced over at the monitors on lined up along the wall, displaying many of the hospital's cells. He watched Arthur, who lay in his hospital bed, sobbing.

The Doctor sighed and turned away from the monitors, pondering his latest case. He had been sure he could do something, but it appeared that yet another case was failed. He shut his laptop, biting his lip. Those government friends of Arthur's were becoming increasingly troublesome, particularly the French one. Of course, he had done his research, he knew all about these officials. Much of it had been confidential, but at least he knew the broad overview of it. It was most certainly odd, however, that people so young could be in charge of National Security. In fact, the only one who seemed fit for the job was Ludwig, though Arthur had seemed very mature when they had first met.

"_Sir, Mr. Kirkland is causing a disturbance in the Medical Ward. Permission to sedate him?"_

The crackling voice of a guard came through a speaker on his desk, startling the doctor from his thoughts. He shook his head to clear any remaining thoughts from his mind.

"Permission granted," he said into the speaker, before leaning back and placing a hand over his eyes.

Kirkland was a lost cause.

**A/n: Yayyy I got another chapter done! This fanfic will probs have ten chapters, I already have an outline for the rest written up :) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, but what will happen next :o I like the suspense in this fic, I hope the rest of you all do as well! By the way, my reviewers are my inspiration, I love reading them, so thank you to all who have reviewed! So much! Byeee for now!**


	8. Breakthrough

**Chapter 8: Breakthrough**

It was raining when England awoke. When had he been moved? This was not the medical ward, he was in an unfamiliar cell. The ceiling was cracked and grey, the walls whitewashed. He lifted his arms into the air, gazing at his bare arms. His wrists were slightly darker from the many faded bruises, but his hands and arms were slender and white. England blinked a few times, sitting up on his small white bed.

"Bloody hell," he groaned, holding his head in his hands.

He felt as though he had been clubbed over the head, his skull throbbing. Distant flashes of memory were beginning to come back to him, and his breathing beginning to become erratic.

"France..."

His eyes went wide and he shot out of bed, rushing to the sealed door. He banged against it frantically, screaming to be released. He tried his hardest to smash the small window, though it was no use. The thing must have been reinforced. He furiously blinked back tears, before they began to escape. He swore loudly and sank to the floor, brushing away the unwanted tears. He looked up and his stomach dropped, seeing someone watching him through the small window. His doctor.

The door unsealed with a hiss, then slowly swung open. Two guards stood on either side of the grey man, and they systematically rushed forward to restrain England. It didn't take much, as he did not fight back. Without a word, the doctor nodded his head, and they set off, leading England out of the cell block. A few moments later, and they had arrived at Vincent's office. England was seated in the reclining chair, and the guards turned, leaving the room. The doctor paced the room, before slamming his fist on the desk, and switching on the news. The two silently watched the news.

_"The Capital is rife with rebellion as angry citizens grow more and more restless. Nonviolent protests have been abandoned, while the people of London are becoming violent. Several attempts to get inside Buckingham Palace have failed, with several royal guard dead. The Queen refuses to be moved to a safe location, and has prepared a speech for her people..."_

The doctor shut off the news, causing England to lock eyes with the man. His eyes looked tired and pained, as a few tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Arthur... We need to try this again."

"Try what? You're bloody insane, the country is tearing itself apart!"

"I know."

"Fuck you, I need to be with my people!"

The doctor raised an eyebrow. Arthur seemed to be very close to the people of England, it was almost as if... He shook his head. That was completely illogical, he knew. Nothing like that could be possible.

"I have shown you the news today, because I know you to be a very close informant to the Prime Minister, and the Queen. Arthur, I do not know the extent of your position in the government, but I do know that it is very important, now please, we must try this again."

England looked down, movement on the desk catching his eye. A manilla envelope. The same envelope he had been shown before. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice becoming a whisper.

"Because I want to help you Arthur."

XxXxXxXxX

Francis' eyes fluttered open at the sound of his cell phone ringing on his nightstand. He blinked away the tiredness and rolled over, hand scrambling for the small cellular. He hit the talk button and held it up to his ear, drawing a breath.

"Francis Bonnefoy speaking," he said, a bit more slurred than he would have like.

"France? Turn on your T.V."

Francis became interested, the current tiredness already fading as he propped himself up on his elbows, satin blankets falling off his bare shoulders.

"Alfred? It's six A.M in France you know," he said, using his free hand to rub the remaining sleepiness from his eyes.

"I know that dude, you gotta catch the six o'clock news! They're talking about Iggy and me on T.V."

France groaned and rolled out of bed, quickly pulling on a pair of silk pants and fur slippers, walking groggily to the living room of his large, elegant home. He fumbled around the side table for the remote control and switched on his 52" flat-screen television. It was already tuned to the local news, as many nations watch it regularly. Already, images of citizens rioting in the streets of London flashed across the screen.

_"In recent news, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom has hesitantly accepted audience with the President of the United States of America. While France's diplomatic relations with the U.S. are steady, recent tensions have broken out between the U.K and the U.S. One thing is for certain, if the alliance remains broken, the economy is sure to suffer."_

Francis flicked off the television, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in frustration. He breathed deeply and sank back into the couch.

"Alfred... I don't think we can get him out of there. Unless they can be convinced that he is cured, once and for all. Angleterre is far too stubborn to allow it. I think we need to do something else, instead of dealing with the hospital."

America was quiet on the other end for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Appeal to the doctor."

XxXxXxXxXx

Arthur lay on the floor, clasping the envelope in his hands. He was trembling all over, huddled around the precious documents as though his life depended on it. The Doctor stood over him, commanding him to open the folder.

"I will not! It's a trick, a bloody trick!" Arthur shouted, shuffling away.

"Arthur, the solution to your problems lies in that envelope. Do you not _want_ to leave this place?"

"Liar, you're obviously lying," Arthur said shakily.

"Just open the envelope."

Arthur hesitated, glancing at the paper in his hands. He eyed the Doctor, about to crack it open, when a fuzzy noise erupted from the intercom on the desk. The microphone. Arthur clutched the folder to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. The Doctor cursed, then whirled around, snatching the intercom from the desk.

"What is it?" he snarled angrily.

"Doctor Vincent, two individuals have forced their way into the office hall. They said they wanted to see you. Permission to arrest?"

The Doctor paused, an unreadable expression crossing his features. He glanced at the security computer, catching sight of the two men in the hallway. They were easily recognized.

"Permission denied. Let them come."

Before the security guards could respond, he shut off the intercom. He turned and smiled warmly at his patient, still sitting on the floor, shaking.

"Arthur, I believe you have some visitors."

Just as he said this, the door to his office burst open. Alfred Jones and Francis Bonnefoy stood there, stoic looks upon their faces. France saw Arthur on the floor and his expression softened, rushing to his side. But something was wrong. Arthur looked horrified at the very sight of France, backing away from his touch.

"No, you're dead! You were dead!" He shouted.

Francis was now extremely confused, trying to convince Arthur that he was, in fact, alive. Alfred strode forward quickly, his strong hand gripping the Doctor's grey coat by the collar. The Doctor only smiled lightly.

"Mr. Jones... this is assault you know."

"Don't give me that! What the hell are you doing to him?" Alfred shouted, pushing the Doctor forcefully into the desk.

A lamp and a small picture slid off, smashing on the floor. The Doctor only chuckled.

"I quite liked that lamp. Mr. Jones, I don't believe you understand what is going on here. What we are about to do? Though, perhaps it is too much for your mind to envision."

Alfred hissed angrily, raising his fist.

"Alfred, don't!" France shouted, causing the American to stop short.

"If you hurt him, Arthur will never get out."

Alfred grit his teeth, and lowered his hand, taking a deep breath.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Put the puzzle back together, Mr. Jones. Arthur. Would you kindly open the envelope and read the documents aloud."

All three individuals locked eyes with him. Arthur was trembling, glancing around for support. France, America, and that bloody Doctor, all gazing at him expectantly. Arthur had never felt so weak and helpless before, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He opened the envelope. He grew confused as he read the papers aloud.

"A-Arthur Kirkland, Patient #310. Admitted 04/08/2011 under request from g-government officials."

He looked up.

"Go on Arthur," the Doctor said calmly.

"H-has shown signs of increasingly severe schizophrenia and violent tendencies. Placed under intensive care. P-personal notes. Kirkland has spoken of several individuals he believes to be closely aquainted with. A f-former patient of Russian nationality he calls "Zak," an abusive security guard under the alias "Munsun" and a murderous pirate called "Hook." As far as I know, h-he has actually interacted physically and mentally with each of these visions. After the attempt to crack the secret of "Zak" I believe we actually 'eliminated' the hallucination. He says we killed him."

Arthur dropped the envelope in his lap, a desperate gaze in his eyes.

"But- but they- killed Francis," he said, tears dripping down his face.

France gasped, and wrapped his arms around Arthur, drawing him close.

"They are visions Arthur... I am alive," he said quietly.

Alfred had a look of extreme disbelief and worry on his face. The Doctor was smiling triumphantly.

"You see Arthur? None of it was real. You are free."

Alfred's shoulders slumped as he watched the Brit. It was depressing, yet somehow extremely uplifting to see Arthur slowly returning to normal. He was sobbing on the floor, slowly moving his lips in time to the words in the folder, as if clarifying that they were real.

"So... It wasn't Zak's file I was trying to find? I-It was mine?"

"Precisely. All this time I had my suspicions that you really did want to learn the truth this entire time, in your subconscious... Unfortunately it took quite a bit of work to crack it. It was only a matter of time until I figured out the key. Your own file."

All three nations looked awestruck. For once, France had nothing negative to say about the Doctor. Perhaps he really was only trying to help.

Arthur's eyes darted to the door, as the world began to slow incredibly. The door to the office swung open as men began to rush into the room, pistols drawn in an aggressive stance. Arthur screamed in protest as he watched France and America spin around, throwing up their arms. He didn't hear the shots, but he saw them, exploding in bright flashes from the ends of six handguns, bullets pounding into the nation's bodies. Blood sprayed from the wounds and England screamed, lunging at the Doctor, who continued to stand in the center of the room, smile remaining on his face the entire time. They collided, and England saw nothing but red.

**A/n: I updated! yayyyy! I hope this wasn't to bad. Or to short. Or to bad. Did I already say that? Well, I hope you are all satisfied with this update, I tried my hardest but recently I havn't been in the right frame of mind for writing :p ah well, I believe this leaves the chapter open for questions. It is a bit confusing, non? Honhonhon, well I plan to write one more major chapter, than an epilogue... Wrapping it up, ya know? As always, thank you my wonderful reviewers! THANK YOU ALL! :D  
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	9. I See Fairy Tales

**Chapter 9: I See Fairy Tales**

London was silent. It seemed as though the entire World had gone completely still, except for the single car driving down the abandoned road. Newspapers fluttered around silently, and the blackened shells of several burned vehicles peppered the streets. The riots had died down, leaving London as quiet as it had ever been. America gripped the steering wheel lightly, glancing in the rearview mirror. He adjusted it to get a better look at the man sitting in the back. England. He looked absolutely exhausted, very pale, and very skinny. He would need to eat something when they got back to the manor.

"Hey Iggy, how about next week you come over to my place? It's summer over there you know," America said softly.

England didn't stir. He was looking wistfully out the window of the back seat, before he made a small hum, which couldn't exactly be defined as a yes or no. America's eyes lingered on him for a moment more before he looked back to the road. France, who had been in the passengers seat, turned around now.

"I'm sure he wants to spend time in his own country for awhile, non? We can have vacation time later Alfred," he said, a sad smile crossing his features.

England repeated the small hum again, his expression and position remaining the same. France lingered for just a moment longer. He turned around, staring out at the silent city.

"God Bless the Queen," England murmured.

Both nations looked back to see that he had leaned back in the seat, his eyes closed. It was a bit depressing, though neither dwelled on it to much. This was the best reaction they had expected after what had happened. He didn't move, just breathing deeply and folding his arms over his chest. France turned to America, the two exchanging a worried glance.

"Uh, were here Iggy."

England took another breath before his bright green eyes fluttered open. He leaned over to look out the window, taking in the sight of his home. It was enormous and ancient, though quite elegant. He nodded silently and opened the door, taking a few shaky steps down the small pathway to the front door. America and France were quick to follow, remaining close. England walked hesitantly to the front door, reaching out for the knob. His hand stopped just before it. He wavered a bit, then took the doorknob and swung it open. The house smelled faintly of tea leaves and peppermint, though it was very cold inside.

America and France both let out a breath they had been holding in, then laughed. England turned, confusion etched on his face. Both nations threw themselves on him in a warm hug, laughter rumbling through their bodies. Confusion turned into surprise, before England simply let his body go slack, accepting the hug. They continued to stand there on the front porch, laughing and forming a delightful group hug. England remained slack, becoming slightly more content with the hug. On a normal day, he would have immediately shoved the both of them away with a shouted insult. Today was not a normal day. England turned his head to France, catching sight of the tears on his cheeks.

"I'm so happy you're alright Angleterre. I always imagined it, when you were finally back," he said, bringing the back of his hand up to wipe away the tears.

"And now you are," America said, grinning.

He was not crying as France was, but his eyes looked a bit more sparkling and wet than usual. England nodded, and the two finally let go. He walked slowly into the foyer, America and France at his sides. He inhaled through his nose, and, for the first time in nearly two years, smiled.

"I think a mug of Earl Grey is in order," he said quietly.

America opened his mouth, nearly about to ask for coffee, until France shot him a death stare. He visibly gulped before grinning nervously.

"Sounds good Iggy. Want us to make it?" he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"No, I couldn't imagine what you'd put in it. I'll make the tea, and France can make us lunch," England said, turning to smile at the two.

"Of course mon ami! Finally admitting your terrible cooking skills, oui?" France teased lightly.

"Oh, ha ha. Funny Francis, cocky git," England scowled, earning a round of chuckles.

America ruffled England's hair as if he were a small child, the Brit ducking away and attempting to flatten his hair.

"There's our Iggy," he said happily.

"I'm not 'Iggy,' bloody git," he mumbled, before proceeding to the kitchen.

Everything was back to normal.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

"Mr. Prime Minister, I believe we need to have a discussion."

The President's private meeting room had been prepared for a video conference. Large monitors covered the wall, each displaying the leaders of individual countries, their nationality displayed beneath them. The Prime Minister was pale, and visibly gulped. The rest of the national leaders stared at him, serious expressions bearing down on him.

"That isn't necessary, I have already agreed to reform our alliance-"

"What you did caused widespread riots across your entire country. Do you have any idea how painful that must have been for Arthur, given his current condition?" The U.S. President spoke, his voice rising slightly.

The Prime Minister flinched at the accusing tone, before bristling up, preparing for the argument that was sure to come.

"Mr. President, I am in control of the situation in my country. The riots have already begun to die down..."

"Surely you understand the mistake here then?" The Russian President began.

"Of course I do, no alliance will be jeopardized again-"

"Good. It has been very difficult to get work done when our own nations are so against what you have caused," the French President said, an annoyed expression across his face.

The Prime Minister opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so he slowly closed his lips. The other leaders watched him as he uncomfortably shifted in his seat, averting his eyes from the monitors.

"I think the Prime Minister understands the point. This _won't_ happen again," Obama concluded.

The Prime Minister could do nothing but nod as the monitors were switched off one by one.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Wind swept across the vast courtyard of the hospital, blowing leaves and newspapers this way and that. A lone figure walked briskly across the ancient cobblestones, his shoes clicking on each one, his long black coat whipping behind him. He passed through the abandoned doors and gazed around the waiting room. Nobody was there waiting for him, not a single soul in the entire facility. The small table in the center of the room was tipped over, magazines scattered on the floor, and the wallpaper was torn from the walls in jagged strips. The man walked onwards, pushing open the doors that hung loosely from their hinges. Empty cells lined the halls, their doors halfway open. The place looked as though it hadn't been inhabited in years.

A sign hung over the entryway to another hall. Section 4. The man walked in, gazing around. It was sterile there, the walls white and the smell of antiseptics made it seem like a very real hospital, rather than a mental facility. The cells here looked comfortable, blankets covering the beds and a comfortable wall blocking off the toilets, for privacy. The man opened one of the cells. Numbered '145' the cell looked just the same as any other. How significant this cell was though, belonging to _him._ The man sat on the bed, looking about the room wistfully. He raised his head, green eyes piercing and bright. He ruffled his messy blonde hair, before standing and drawing his coat closer to himself.

"This place has many memories," a hollow voice echoed from the doorway.

The man studied the figure in the doorway with an interested expression. It wore a red coat, white ruffles around the collar and sleeves. A long, shining sword was sheathed at its right hip, and its arms hung at its sides. One hand was missing, a gleaming silver hook in its place.

"Mm, it does. Funny that you would be here Hook," England said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh Britain, if you only knew what you've put me through."

England raised his chin a bit, tilting his head to the side in a curious manner.

"Oh? What exactly have I put you through then?"

"You abandoned me. Abandoned _us._ Now all we have is this place," Hook said, motioning to his surroundings.

"Then you've broken away? Truly?" England asked.

Hook sighed.

"Yes Britain. Your mind is not our prison anymore. You've thrown us out into a new cell. We won't be seeing you again," Hook said, breaking out into a smile.

Specks of light appeared around him. England was not scared, nor was he very concerned. He had moved past fear, moved past that feeling of concern. He understood what was happening. The light began to form figures. A leprechaun, a fairy, a unicorn. Mythical creatures straight out of a children's fairy tale. They waved at the man in front of him. They had spent several hundred years together, and now they were departing. England could not help but shed a tear as Flying Mint Bunny flew up to him, nuzzling its small fuzzy face into his neck. He could feel it.

"I will miss you, I suppose. Though you have all caused me a great deal of pain, I can't say it wasn't fun at times," England said.

The small green rabbit left his shoulder, coming to a rest on Hook's arm.

"Goodbye Britain!" They said cheerfully.

England blinked away the last remaining tears, opening his eyes to find a bare room. He sniffed once before walking out of the cell, down the hall and into the lobby. He smiled before opening the door, into the now brightly lit courtyard. Birds flew about in the air, a very light breeze stemming away the summer air just barely, giving way to a bright blue sky. England raised his arms and took it in, before walking to the car on the side of the road. He entered the backseat.

"So mon ami, was that enough closure for you?" France asked.

"Yes. Funny isn't it? I can't believe the Queen convinced my boss to shut the place down for good."

"Yeah dude, that's awesome that bastard doctor lost his damn job."

"Yes, of course. Though, I can't help but feel something is... off."

America raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?"

"...Am I awake America?"

**A/n: Was it mean of me to end that right there? Haha, sorry :p there **_**is**_ **going to be an epilogue, so do not worry! I hate to make y'all wait, but I couldn't resist but to end it right there :) Is he crazy still? Is he not? What happened at the end of the last chapter, and what happened just now? Did this even happen at all? We will find out in the epilogue, so until then... dun dun dun!**


	10. Epilogue

**xXEpilogueXx  
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**A/n: Be warned. This is extremely short! I'm sorry, but this was the plan from the beginning :o I had this planned in my head when I wrote the first chapter, so I kinda knew what the last chapter would consist of when I first started the story. It was all in my head though, so I hope you like this wrap up :p It may not have come out as good as I had planned in my mind though. If you don't like it, then disregard it I suppose. Chapter 9 could also work as an ending, but I just really wanted to do this. Peace out!**

England scowled as he entered the World Meeting, greeted by the usual chaos of hundreds of Nations thrown together in a conference hall. An arm was loosely draped around his shoulder, before it drew him close. England turned to the offending arm's owner, finding America standing there grinning stupidly.

"Dude, I was wondering when you were gonna show up! You havn't been to one of these in awhile, thought I would show you around a bit," he said, laughing as England shoved him away.

"I do not need a bloody reunion tour America. This whole ordeal is giving me a raging headache," he said, huffing in irritation.

America just chuckled and looped his arm around England's, causing the smaller man to blush.

"Let me go Alfred, before I get angry," he grumbled, though the American just pulled him forward.

"Hey everyone! Iggy's here!"

Choruses of greetings ensued, and several nations, including Italy, even rushed forward to hug England. It was actually... nice. It was overwhelming to have all of the whole-hearted greetings and hugs crowd him suddenly, but he couldn't help but smile as Germany stepped in to firmly shake his hand, nodding at him. Even Russia crushed him into a large bear hug, though that was a bit painful. Luckily, America had jabbed the large man in the ribs, and they had begun to shove each other back and forth, completely forgetting England after a moment.

The meeting went smoothly, each nation delivering their speech with enthusiasm. England smiled at France after the speech, refraining from calling him a 'frog.' England delivered his own speech, giving notes on how the riots in his cities had died down and that his alliance with America would remain in place. America had stood and rounded up an applause, and before England knew it everyone was clapping for him. He smiled as he walked out of the conference hall, ready for the much needed break.

"Hey Iggy, wanna hit the bar with me and the guys tonight?" America called to him from across the hall.

"Sure, I could use a drink. I'm going to get lunch before the meeting resumes," England said back, earning a wink and smile from America.

He walked down the hall, trying to decide where he would go out to eat. Preferably somewhere that served fish and chips, though he did feel in the mood for beef stew. Deciding to stop in the restroom before lunch, he turned at the sight of a sign leading to them. He took his time washing his hands, enjoying the hot water on his palms.

Suddenly, the water became cold. England cursed quietly and shut the water off, shivering as the restroom became very cold. Then, he smelled it. His heart began to race, and bile rose in his throat. He ran into the closest stall and heaved into the toilet, wiping his mouth and shaking. He had broken into a cold sweat, still smelling that awful odor. Death. Flashbacks entered his mind, images of his time in solitary confinement. He opened the door of the stall and saw it, all the color draining from his face.

"B-bloody hell... Zak? W-What are-"

"Arthur. It's been some time, hasn't it?"

Zak smiled, revealing his yellowed and uneven teeth. He wore rags, tattered and bloodied. He himself did not appear physically harmed, though there was an obscene amount of blood on him. It covered his face and chest, matted his long hair. He held a large machete in his right hand, fresh blood running down the length of the blade.

"You- you aren't real!"

"Arthur. I'm not a man to fuck with. Those idiots lost me while they transferred those prisoners."

His eyes went murky.

"You got out first. Abandoned me in that hell-hole. Left me in Section 4!" He screamed, blood spraying from his lips.

England shuddered.

"Who did you kill?" he asked.

"Kill? I destroyed. I maimed, tortured, and slaughtered that pervert. His accent was getting on my nerves," Zak said, scowling.

A cold, yet heavy feeling pooled in England's stomach. France. He had killed France.

"NO! You didn't, you didn't!" England screamed, charging forward.

Zak simply stepped out of the way, allowing England to fall forward. The floor was surprisingly soft.

_**…...**_

"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Kirkland? He's not responding."

The voice was familiar. England blinked, staring up into grey eyes.

"Mr. Kirkland... Mr. Kirkland..."

He was grey. The entire room was grey. His British accent was dull.

"He's stable."

Was his name England? Was it Mr. Kirkland? Why did he feel so passive?

"Wrap his head. The stitches are secured."

The voices were hazy. Why? Where was he? The bandages felt strange on his head. His whole body felt heavy, and very exhausted. He shut his eyes. There was nothing to worry about anymore.

**A/n again: :p not to bad? let me know... that is all.**


	11. AUTHOR'S NOTE: EXPLANATION

**AUTHORS NOTE: Alright, first off, be warned. This authors note will explain the concept of the story. It will ensure that everything is wrapped up, answering questions so everyone knows what happened. Warning: It will explain everything as it was put together in my head! So, this was what I imagined visually for this story to consist of, so _read at your own risk! _Btw, this will probably look like a huge wall of text. Sorry y'all :p Alright, phwew. Let us begin...**

I tried to tie some things together through the last few chapters, but it was meant to be confusing. England _is_ clinically insane in this story. The beginning of the story is meant to make it seem as if the hospital is out to get England, and that he was simply deemed crazy because of the 'hallucinations', or his imaginary friends. While he is convinced that they are real, he envisions himself being abused by guards, and befriends a new, yet very real hallucination, the Russian Zak. Zak was meant to show the beginning of a violent side to England's visions. England envisions that everyone but his hallucinations are out to get him, because his mind is subconsciously refusing to accept the reality that they aren't real. Later on, when Zak tells him to get the files, he is actually trying to help England retrieve his own files, so that he can understand the reality and possibly break the visions. The guard Munsun was my idea of the way England believes everyone to be against him, seeing that the guard abuses him, though it isn't really happening. The doctor never talks directly to the hallucinations, at least I don't think so. He does know about them, using the "death" of Zak to try and rid England of a hallucination. England has the other countries, especially France, convinced that the hospital is doing illegal things in an attempt to get out. I imagine Section 4 to be the section that England was actually held in, for the most unstable patients. France and Germany were diverted from it, who says the government cannot be at least a bit secretive? So, the story begins to divert from reality after the Doctor shows England his own files for the first time, which causes him to revert to a state of insanity. At the same time, an outer conflict is occurring, with the Prime Minister growing more paranoid that the other countries are trying to rescue a very insane England by any means necessary. Fearing America, he breaks the alliance out of pure paranoia that England would be dangerous if released. England's hallucinations grow violent, and he finally envisions Hook murdering France. This causes him to go completely mad, as the riots outside are becoming painful and spurring more problems in his mind. The doctor finally manages to break the hallucinations completely, reverting his mind to a calm state. At the last scene of Chapter 8, he then reverts once again to insanity, imagining that the Doctor set up and ambush to kill America and France. Chapter 9 shows his most unstable state yet, as he revisits the hospital and believes he has overcome the hallucinations, that he is cured and that the hospital has been shut down. Basically, Chapter 9 was England's mind going haywire. The only 'real time' sequence was the Presidential meeting. At the end of the chapter, he figures out that he may actually be imagining the entire thing, asking Alfred "am I awake America?" Chapter 10, the epilogue, is meant to cause you readers to think he may have actually recovered and have been released. The World Meeting is actually another hallucination, with Zak appearing to have returned, England's violent tendencies returning as well. The last part I imagined as a hazy post-surgery sequence, with England ultimately being lobotomized. This would make him docile and destroy the hallucinations permanently. This was the last option, and one that the Prime Minister and the Doctor did not want to use, though that is ultimately what happened. It is left up to the reader to decide whether or not the lobotomy was successful, or a failure. So, the lobotomy ultimately occurred during Chapter's 9 and 10, England seeing those things in his mind as the surgery is preformed. So, it is meant to be a dark ending, or a questionable ending. But that wraps it up completely.

**OMGZZZZ! That was a ton of writing for an authors note. Well, it was more like an explanation. But yeah... There it is :) This story has been completely concluded. Hope you all liked it :p**


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